


Horrors of The Mind

by Crypticus



Category: Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Gore/Violence (kinda), Ham is a good person, Ham is a sweetheart, It might be subtle but it i S there, M/M, Night Terrors, Noir is a Noir, Noirham - Freeform, hamnoir - Freeform, wait no
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-10-11 11:08:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17445782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crypticus/pseuds/Crypticus
Summary: Night terrors can be such a pain in the ass, though luckily for Noir he's got a certain swine by his side.





	Horrors of The Mind

**Author's Note:**

> I should note that this is gonna start off uh... Relatively dark? Kinda...? Also-- sorryforanytyposorwhatever

 Darkness. 

 It enveloped Noir, wrapping around him - a cold, distant embrace that was all too familiar. At first Noir accepted it, but then like all the other times, it wasn't long before he began to fight against it.

 The darkness was persistent, clinging to him. A thick, goop-like liquid materialized from what was once nothing yet everything at the same time. It dripped from Noir's coat, staining his pale skin in multiple shades of grey — both light and dark, controversial as that may sound. The detective was quick to rub at it, trying to clean that cursed sludge off him. Like all the previous times he'd done this, his efforts were in vain. The sludge only clung to his skin tighter, rubbing at it made his arms burn and sting — Noir ignore the pain, and continued to knead viciously at the ink, despite how that action clearly made things worse. Noir also ignored (as best he could) the tears that ran down his cheeks, even as it blurred his vision. 

 Though one thing Noir didn't ignore, was the constant thud of his heart. The noise bounced around in his head, echoing in his ears, Noir wished— he wished it would just go away, and leave him alone. But of course, with the detective's oh so  _swell_ luck, that wasn't likely to happen. If Noir were to be honest, he's pretty sure it'd grown louder— and that means— a choked sound exited Noir's mouth, and he stopped terrorizing the gunk that spread over his body to bring them to his throat. 

 He couldn't breathe. Noir  _couldn't_ breathe— something stopped oxygen from entering, and carbon dioxide from exiting. The tears dripping down the man's eyes increased. Noir's lungs screamed, he felt as if they were shriveling up inside him, and the detective's throat felt like was on fire. A fear Noir didn't realize was present— it was multiplying, growing at a rapid rate. 

 Noir— he... Some part of Noir's mind told the detective,  _he was going to die._ That only served to multiply the rate of which the fear, and the panic grew at. Normally, the human brain released dopamine in response to the realization that death was inevitable — which would explain the dizziness Noir felt cloud his panicking mind. But it wasn't enough the block out the excruciating pain Noir felt as he fell to his knees, shivering wildly. 

 Suddenly, a threatening warmth snapped Noir out of his silent inner monologue. Oh...  _Oh,_ _no—_

_**No.**_

_**No no no—!** _

Noir wanted to scream, wanted to thrash in the invisible hold which held him hostage at his knees. But he couldn't—

 All Noir could do was stare straight ahead, even as his hands grappled at his throat while eyes darted to and fro. That threatening warmth increased, spiraling out of control. He could feel the searing heat of the flames, dancing around his immobilized body. The fire he couldn't see mocked him, creeping closer before withdrawing. Those few seconds of relief were quick to transform into paranoia, as the hot sensation would be quick to return to him before once again leaving. Noir could hear the crackling and hissing, a smoke the detective was blind to clogged his already tightened airway. 

 Dear lord, Noir wished he could just fall unconscious anytime soon. 

 "Peter...?"

 The detective's eyes widened as the faces Aunt May and Uncle Ben materialized before him.  _Not real, Peter._ Noir told himself, even as he tried to scream for them to leave. His stomach churned at what happened next. The disturbingly-realistic faces of his Aunt and Uncle began to  _deteriorate,_ right in front of him. And Noir couldn't do anything about it. The skin on Aunt May's face grew swollen, reddening slightly as blisters began to appear. This escalated quickly, as the slight reddening and 'miniature' blisters grew more serious with each passing second. Noir wanted to throw up, as the obvious smell of burning flesh filled his noise. Aunt May's 'face' was barely recognizable, charred a bitter black and  _dear god_ — May,  _his_ Aunt May was melting before his very eyes. 

 "Peter." A dry, yet warm voice spoke up. It didn't match what Noir saw, when he hesitantly turned to look at his uncle.

 It was gruesome, needless to say. He saw dark and bitter red everywhere, painting decaying skin. Ugly wounds covered Noir's uncle. Blank eyes were staring at him, accusing him of something Noir couldn't think of. 

 It took the detective a moment to notice that he could move, and the first thing Noir did when he realized this was try to scramble away. The disgusting remains seemed to draw closer, he shivered as it stuck to his coat and hands and—

* * *

  “Peter!"

 The detective woke with a strangled gasp, hands immediately grabbing at his coat which lay at the foot of the bed he lay in. He inspected the fabric with wild eyes. When he caught just the  _slightest_ bit of a malicious-looking, caliginous red on the fabric... Noir never tossed something with so much vigor and disgust as he just did now.

 "Petey...?" The voice that woke the detective spoke much softer, almost hesitant. Noir felt a warm hand on his arm, and he tensed. His breathing was unstable, and Noir felt his hair stick to his forehead from sweat. The sheets were crumpled, and he gripped them tighter. Then his vision was filled with a pale pink, so soft and clean and...  _Pure_? The tension in the detective's shoulders seeped away, drooping slightly. "Hey— Peter,  _breathe._ " Noir stared into cartoonish eyes, the worry in them was clear. The detective found himself inhaling shakily, heart beating sporadically. "Inhale... Exhale... Inhale... _Inhale_ , Peter." The voice that belonged to that those cartoonish eyes on soft pink, instructed sternly. 

 Noir's heart froze for just a second, when a pair of hands hesitantly made contact with his scarred face - one hand on either side.

 "Ham—" he managed to choke out the name. The same cartoon-like eyes from before looked into his own, understanding glowing from within. Noir shuddered, eyes falling to avoid eye-contact as shame welled up inside him. A sour taste became apparent in his mouth, and Noir swallowed — his throat protested, in the form of a raw, stinging pain. He winced. "Sorry—" he began only to be cut off by the pair of eyes seeming to harden, before narrowing slightly in a glare.

* * *

  "Don't." 

 Ham spoke fiercely, his grip on the distressed man's face tightening ever so slightly.

 "Don't you  _dare_ try to apologize for this." The swine was burning a hole through Noir's head, though his glare softened when the man's gaze drifted off to the side. Ham sighed quietly.

 "Peter."

 No response. Ham frowned slightly, " _Petey._ "

 Maybe it had been the slightest bit of desperation in Ham's voice, but regardless, Noir hesitantly shifted his eyes back to pig— and his face turned a dark shade of grey as Ham's snout came into contact with his nose for a short but sweet moment. Despite the situation, Ham couldn't help but grin because—  _cute._ "You're okay, Peter." He spoke quietly, and Noir stared dumbly at the charming swine. 

 Ham shifted slightly, before letting out a noise similar to an 'oink' out of surprise when a pair of arms wrapped around him. He melted into the embrace without a second thought, hands automatically going to grip the soft fabric of Noir's long-sleeved shirt.

 When Ham felt the arms holding him securely quiver, he only cuddled closer to the detective. 

 "You're okay, Peter." Ham repeated what he said before, the swine craning his head to stare up at the sharp yet somehow impossibly soft-looking features Noir possessed. 

 It seemed as if the message he tried to tell non-verbally got through to the detective, because Noir's expression softened as he spoke — "Yeah.." 


End file.
